There was a great deal of cooperation among friends and relatives in those days. Families were large and there was not a lot of material wealth to spread around. Instead, folks helped each other out and shared what they could with those that needed it. Later, when Mom and Dad could afford to move on, My uncle Ernie and his family moved in with Grandma.

Around the time I was born, my parents moved into a house they had rented immediately across the street from Grandma's. Known as the Klein house, this became the first home I really remember. The Klein house was a two story affair with a walkout basement and a porch with no railing at the southwest corner. I remember there were two staircases that led to the upstairs were the bedrooms were. The downstairs consisted of a kitchen, dining room, and living room. The dining room and living room were along the east wall so one could look out the window and se what was happening on Grandma's farm across the way. The house had electricity, running water and an indoor bathroom. I don't remember if we had a telephone. Mom had quit her teaching job by then and became full time helper in the dairy business.

There were other dairies around town but the Brickner Dairy featured Jersey cows with incredibly high dairy fat milk. I think there were about 15 or 20 cows in the herd. Even in those days, the dairy had an electric milking machine. There was a hand cranked cream separator in the basement of the Klein house were all of the bottling was done. I don't recall any serious refrigeration as deliveries were made immediately using a 1939 Ford with the back seat removed. All of the milking machines and equipment was hauled across the road every day for cleaning and sanitation. All of the milk was fresh and raw. No small dairy could afford pasteurizing equipment.

One adventure almost ended the whole thing. Again about two and a half, my buddy from up the street and I were playing pig. You had to be creative in the days before the cartoon channel. Anyway, part of this play involved eating field corn off the cob. One of the hard kernels stuck in my throat restricting my ability to breath. Mom and Dad rushed me off to a doctor in Red Wing MN where they had an X-ray machine. Unfortunately, the kernel was lodged behind a bone and they couldn't see it. We were sent home with the advice that the kernel would probably dissolve eventually. I spent a very sickly 30 days until one morning when I coughed up a very complete kernel. From that episode, I very distinctly remember being in the doctor's office and showing my Mom the regurgitated kernel.

Among other things my Dad did was share crop random fields and do custom farm work like picking corn using a two row mounted picker on his John Deere. I remember an instance when I was about three when Mom came rushing in after her milk route, gathered me in my pajamas and headed off to Beldenville, a nearby crossroads. Our mission was to observe and report on a field Dad was working. There had been rumors of a hail storm. Sure enough the grain was flat. Such was the excitement fomenting the memories of a child on the farm.

That '39 Ford earned its keep. As well as being a milk delivery vehicle it also pulled a horse trailer and occasionally suffered the indignity of hauling a calf or two in the backseat. Mom was not too happy about that. I vaguely remember them having a model A or B Ford pickup for awhile but, that '39 Ford was all around more versatile. I have to stop and reflect on how hard my folks were working in those days. Yet, there was always time to visit with family and friends, a couple of beers at one of the many taverns in town or going to the local pavilion dance hall.

Mom had a large garden as most of the neighbors had. Canning vegetables and fruit made for a good store of food before winter set in. Besides garden fare, beef, pork and chicken found their way into jars. In those days most everyone kept a few chickens. The coups were stocked in the spring. Any males in the flock were consumed as "fryers" during the summer while the hens were kept as layers through the winter. The following fall the year old hens were butchered and canned to make room for the new hens. Those old canned hens were plump and delicious. I am not sure where you can get such good chicken today. The young fryers were also excellent in their own right. So life went on. Rationing was a big issue for things like machinery, tires, fuel oil and all manner of food products. Even as a little kid I had heard of the black market although I wonder if I knew the meaning. Dad kept buying, selling, and pulling horses and doing what extra work he could drum up. We visited all the friends and neighbors a lot. We hosted and visited for Saturday evening parties and Sunday dinners. Dad and mom worked and saved and a new kid joined us. My brother Jim came along in September of 1943. By the following winter enough had been saved to swing the purchase of a farm ten miles away on the other side of Ellsworth. So begins a new and lengthy chapter.